It’s a strange thing, seeing your friends grieve.
Not quietly. Not politely. But in real time, faces crumpling, bodies shaking, holding each other because words aren’t enough.

Usually time together is fun, chaotic.
Most of my memories live in the corners of dancefloors or for some reason, someones kitchen. There’s glitter and noise in the way I picture us.
So to sit in a room together, dressed in our best, holding back tears (or not)… it was jarring.
But also, real in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

Because grief doesn’t care how vibrant someone was.
It shows up, uninvited, and changes the people you thought you knew.
It strips everything back.
And what’s left is love. Raw and exposed.

That day reminded me that friendship isn’t just built on shared fun.
It’s also shown in how we hold each other when things break.
The people I’ve laughed and danced with are also the ones I’ve now watched fall apart.
And somehow, that’s made me feel closer to them, not further away.

There’s a softness that follows grief.
It’s heavy, but it connects us in a way the good times alone never could.